


Relief Efforts

by Feekins



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (Mentioned In Passing But Not Occurring In This Fic), (Not As Sketchy As It Sounds), Ableist Language, Accidental Use of Miracles, Aftercare, Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Comfort No Hurt, Consensual Kink, Consensual Mind Control, Couch Cuddles, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crying, Cunnilingus, Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Disaster Ace Anthony J. Crowley (Good Omens), Domestic, Egg Laying, Embarrassment, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grey-Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hugs, Humor, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Internalized Acephobia, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Metaphysical Intimacy, Mild Blood, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Safewords, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sex Toys, Simulated Eggpreg, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The Princess Bride References, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feekins/pseuds/Feekins
Summary: 6,000 years, and Lust was still Crowley's least, least, LEAST favorite Deadly Sin. As such, he'd probably missed or inadvertently avoided certain memos about it, but that was okay. After all, he was (a) a demon, (b) immortal, and (c) VERY secretive about That One Kink of his. What Crowley didn't know couldn't hurt him THAT badly.....or so he thought, until Aziraphale voiced rather strong concerns about his "technique," and offered an alternative.OR: Crowley is the Disaster Ace in this relationship. Aziraphale teaches him how to be slightly less of one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Didn't think I'd ever post an _actually sexy_ fic, let alone one that's 8k words and counting, but here we are. You know what they say: If you want something done right, better _be_ the niche kink fic you want to see in the world yourself.....or something like that. More than that, though, this fic is about _a whole lot of aspec feelings_. It's written BY an aspec person FOR aspec people (and other queer people and allies and whoever else this resonates with). That said, a quick note about the Internalized Acephobia tag: It only crops up a few times, and when it does, it's literally just thoughts, and very brief ones, at that. SO. Rest assured that this fic is not about two tragic, suffering aspecs. Lord knows we deal with enough bullshit as it is;;;;;;
> 
> This is, above all, about Aziraphale and Crowley navigating their relationship with mutual respect, trust, understanding, and willingness to learn and to accommodate one another. I hope y'all find it as much of a joy and a comfort as I have writing it.
> 
> Also, uh...probably worth mentioning: I'm American, and although I did try to keep this work Americanism-free, a few may have slipped through the cracks, so. Apologies for that - and hey, readers in the UK and Ireland? Feel free to point those out to me! I want to learn and improve!
> 
> All that said, do enjoy! And consider letting me know what you think of it so far, okay? :,D

In retrospect, the bath was probably the worst possible place Crowley could have done it. Sure, the privacy was nice. So was the option to wash himself off the _fun_ way with _actual water_ once he was done (without even having to get up!). He just had to make sure he kept quiet - which, normally, he was quite good at. The danger of discovery _did_ do things to him, though, so. Lovely bonus, that.

Not today.

Not when his orgasm had him shaking so badly he all but punted the faucet.

A loud _tunnng_ reverberated up through the infernal bones of his leg - the exact _opposite_ of the sort of vibrations Crowley went for. At the very least, he had the most basic wherewithal to muffle a sharp, pained bless by shoving a fist in his mouth, accidentally tasting his own salty-sweetness in the process. Still, he heard neither the rushed footsteps nor the familiar, concerned voice calling his name - after all, he was still seeing stars, his thighs still trembling with pleasured aftershocks.

And but of _course_ he'd only just begun to come down when the door flew open.

" - happened? Are you al-?"

And Aziraphale was staring - and, in his post-coital daze, it took _entirely_ too long for Crowley to realize why.

There he was, stark naked, sprawled out in the otherwise empty tub with his _luridly_ sticky Effort on full display and his massage wand still buzzing in his hand. If it was just that, it would have been fine, really. It wasn't as if they'd never seen one another get off before. This time, though, Crowley had _another_ toy, one he'd _never_ taken out for Aziraphale: Right there between Crowley's spread legs was a golden, oblong-shaped something a little over half as big as his fist, slick as it sat in a puddle of bodily fluids - which, unfortunately for everyone involved, was mottled grey with demon blood.

_And Aziraphale was staring in unmistakable horror_.

So, Crowley did the only thing he _could_ do: He promptly checked out of the situation.

"Sorry," he mumbled, wand clattering down as he drew his legs to his chest, not even trying not to wince at the achy _emptiness_ deep between his hips.

A hurried rustling beside him, the dull thud of knees hitting tile - and, between it all, the buzz of that obnoxious wand _which he could feel through the fucking porcelain_ ceased.

"Wh-? _No_, Crowley, I-! _I'm_ sorry for not knocking first!" Aziraphale's voice drew closer, so close and contrite and caring. Then, there was a hand at Crowley's cheek, and he almost wanted to _cry_, though he knew not whether due to embarrassment or the overwhelming tenderness of the gesture. "But it-! It sounded like you hit something. Are you hurt?"

So he _wasn't_ ashamed of him. Come to think of it, Crowley didn't know why he thought Aziraphale would be. Lifting his head to give it a little shake, he still didn't make eye contact - but he did see the way Aziraphale then nodded toward his nethers.

"And...? Down there?"

At last, Crowley withdrew his fist from his mouth. The action smeared a thick line of his own fluids across Aziraphale's inner wrist, but Aziraphale didn't so much as bat an eyelash. Meanwhile, wincing again as he parted his legs, Crowley glanced down.

"What _about_...?"

And no sooner than it thought to leave it, Crowley's voice died in his throat. He shouldn't have looked, regretted it even before his insides froze over with a vaguely sick shudder.

Yes, Crowley had a good bit of self-loathing within him - more than most, perhaps, but everyone had at least a _little_, didn't they? The thing was, _his_ didn't extend to his corporation. In general, Crowley rather _liked_ his appearance - always had, no matter what or how he saw fit to change parts of it through the years and decades and centuries and millennia. Crowley _liked_ being _Crowley_.

But _Someone_, he _hated_ seeing himself like this. There was something so, just..._distressing_ to Crowley about it all, about it being _his_ body and _his_ fluids and _his_ sore vulva and _his_ blood and that _bloody fucking egg_ that he _shouldn't_ have taken out when he _knew_ he wasn't home alone and-!

And Aziraphale _knew_ \- not the egg bit, obviously, but everything else. Crowley knew that. Still, he couldn't help but startle a little when, with the sigh of ethereal chimes, a miracle swept over and through him. The next thing he knew, the mess was gone, and so was his nudity, a plush towel now wrapped snugly about his hips.

With the gentlest touch, Aziraphale tilted Crowley's chin up - and he looked _exactly_ as concerned and loving as he sounded.

"You were _bleeding_, dearest."

Too much, those four words, the reminder, the tone with which they were spoken, even the blessed term of endearment - and Crowley thought, not for the first time, _why do I have to _be_ like this?_

"It's fine," he shrugged with some paper-thin semblance of nonchalance. "Happens."

"It _happens?_"

"Most of the time, yeah. 'S normal."

Incredulous - that was the only way to describe the look Aziraphale was giving Crowley. For a moment, then, Aziraphale floundered, looked as if he was about to say something, about to have _serious_ words with him - until, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, Aziraphale gave up. The sigh he released was long and long-suffering - so much so that Crowley found himself embarrassed for a whole new set of reasons that he didn't even _know_ yet, and that? That wasn't very fair of Aziraphale, now, was it?

A deep breath.

Another.

With each passing second, Crowley only wanted more and more to _scream_ \- until Aziraphale opened his eyes, looked Crowley head-on. Despite his tiny not-an-outburst, everything about Aziraphale now was...inexplicably steady. And still so very, _vastly_ loving. Crowley almost felt bad for scowling on reflex - until Aziraphale brought his other hand in to properly cup his face. A bit much, that. And they said _Crowley_ was the dramatic one...

"You are saying to me - just so we're _absolutely_ clear," Aziraphale said, oh so _infuriatingly_ deliberate with his words, "that it is _normal_ for you-"

"Yes."

"-Anthony J. Crowley-"

"Yes."

"-to _bleed from your vulva_-"

"_Yes_."

"-_every time_ insertion is inv-!"

"Not _every_ time!" Crowley finally snapped, jerking away and out of Aziraphale's hands, his mouth moving faster than his brain could keep up with. "Just when I'm impatient!"

A hush fell over the room, during which a hole into the void did _not_, unfortunately, open beneath Crowley and swallow him up. So, he opted for the next best thing: He pulled his legs to his chest again and glowered at Aziraphale from behind an angular knee. Because Aziraphale was just fucking _staring_ again, blinking like Bambi incarnate.

"...Oh."

"'Oh' what?" No venom. Just frustration-frayed nerves.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began delicately - and he settled, sat a little more comfortably, pillowing his head in his arms over the side of the tub, "You had me worried - rather, I'm _still_ worried, of course, but...I was afraid something _else_ was wrong - that was, er. Causing the bleeding."

He wanted to stay mad. Oh, Crowley wanted to stew and sulk, but he couldn't. Not like this - not with _him_. Not when Aziraphale was fully clothed and Crowley was a second away from the opposite and sore between his legs and embarrassed beyond belief and there were sex toys in the tub that neither of them had a _modicum_ of interest in because, in that moment, it was just Aziraphale and Crowley, and that was the only thing that mattered.

A sniff, and Crowley rested his cheek against his knee.

"Something like what?"

With an embarrassed, apologetic grimace, Aziraphale gave a little shrug.

"Something like...for example, maybe your vagina is a bit narrow for that... What is that, now?"

And the moment Aziraphale gestured at the golden, marbled-looking oblong on the floor of the tub, Crowley buried his face in his knees.

"_Egg_. Silicone _egg_." A beat. "And clinical terminology is never sexy, angel."

"No?"

"_Never_ sexy," Crowley repeated despite himself. "_Ever_."

"...I see."

Welp. Crowley knew that tone of voice, all quiet and prim and proper and _entirely_ too conversational. Whatever was coming, he'd brought it upon himself - but surely, it couldn't be worse than anything he'd already endured today.

"Would you like it better if I called it your twat?"

Right.

So.

Not _as_ bad, but enough to make Crowley choke on nothing.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer cunt," Aziraphale added, cool as a cucumber. "That's nice and vulgar."

"Rather not."

"Well, that's alright. Don't you worry, love," and here, Aziraphale gave Crowley's shoulder a comforting - if slightly heavy-handed - pat. "We have _plenty_ of options. You could go the ridiculous route with coochie or poontang or _love tunnel_-"

Against all odds, Crowley snort-laughed.

"_Seriously?_"

"Not as serious as _gash_ or _ax wound_ \- you know, violent, gory - the _perfect_ way to address the subject of a demon's bits."

"For fuck's sake..."

"'_Girly_ bits' is too binary for my taste," said Aziraphale, wrinkling his nose, "although, talking of which, I've heard they call it 'cookie' in pornography. I like that one - _much_ more enticing, don't you agree?"

"I really, _really_ don't."

Maybe it was the fact that Crowley was shaking all over from the effort of at least _trying_ to contain his laughter. Maybe it was all part of the act. Either way, Aziraphale huffed, fixing Crowley with a most indignant glare.

"Fine. Call it your _muff_ for all I care. Or your _snatch_. Or..."

A pause. A glint in Aziraphale's eye. Desperately, Crowley braced himself...

"...you know, Crowley..."

"Yeah?" he squeaked out.

The smile Aziraphale gave him was the _quintessence_ of propriety.

"There's nothing that rolls off the tongue quite like _pussy_."

That's what did it. Crowley was practically _howling_ \- thank _fuck_ their nearest neighbor was a good few kilometres away. And by the time Crowley was wiping tears from his eyes, Aziraphale was casting him the most _beautifully_ amused grin.

"Right, alright. You win," Crowley wheezed, feeling a little less embarrassed and a little lighter in his chest. "Call it whatever the Heaven you want - _name_ it, I don't care."

"Oh no, my dear, it's _your_ vulva," Aziraphale insisted. "I leave the naming to you."

"Bloody Mary, then."

"_Anyhow_..."

Right. A little too on the nose, but at least it sounded pretty - _and_ got Aziraphale to roll his eyes, Crowley noted with a crooked smirk. Aziraphale just sighed again - short, this time, and nothing but fond.

"I mean it, Crowley," he said, soft and earnest.

Although Crowley didn't realize it, this shift in tone - a return to the type of intimacy where all the world and its preoccupations fell away, leaving just _them_ and the soul-deep, innate, ineffable connection they shared - had him leaning closer, even mirroring Aziraphale's position, resting his head on his crossed arms as concern once again creased Aziraphale's forehead.

Aziraphale continued, "I thought you'd hurt yourself - using toys that were far too big for you, no less."

A grimace pulled at Crowley's lips.

"Actually...the more I think about it, the more I suspect that's another problem," he admitted. "On top of being impatient."

It was easier to talk about the situation now. Perhaps that random foray into slang hadn't been so random after all. It _was_ rather difficult to be embarrassed with oneself after the Angel of the Eastern Gate saw fit to _personally_ educate you on the finer linguistic nuances in the naming of what were considered by some to be the more 'effeminate' human sex organs. Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing _indeed_ \- a bastard who presently looked more and more like all he wanted to do was draw Crowley into his arms...which, if Crowley was being honest with himself, he wouldn't have minded in the least.

"So it _does_ feel too big? If you don't mind me-?"

But Crowley was already shaking his head.

"You're fine. Er, possibly? It..._nnmg_." Breaking eye contact, Crowley scratched at the back of his neck, pointedly refusing to let his eyes even _think_ of straying in the egg's direction. "'S kinda sore right now. Down there. Could be the size of the thing, could be me being too rough with myself, could be both. I dunno."

No answer - not immediately. When his nerves got the better of him, Crowley glanced over to find Aziraphale sitting a little straighter, head tilted in thought. Somehow, the sight was a comfort. It was..._really_ quite nice to see you were cared for - regardless of the state your partner found you in, and regardless of the awkward conversation that ensued, because your partner just wanted to make sure you were okay.

"How _exactly_ do you use it - your egg? Out of curiosity."

There was the tiniest, _tiniest_ hesitation to Aziraphale's words. Tact, Crowley recognized. Something else, too, though...

Then, Aziraphale gave a little chuckle.

"I must confess I've not... Well, I don't _think_ I've, ah. Indulged that way."

Ah. He was embarrassed, too. Once he realized this, Crowley felt just a little less so. Misery - and general discomfort, it seemed - loved company. With another strangled noise from the back of his throat, then, Crowley shrugged, found himself gesturing obscenely to demonstrate.

"Just...y'know. Shove it up there, mess around..." His arms dropped, curled around his knees. Here was the moment of truth, the thing that most embarrassed Crowley to admit, even to Aziraphale - and so, after a moment or two, he mumbled into his knees, "...feels good to push out, okay?"

An intrigued little noise from Aziraphale. Gathering his courage, Crowley glanced back up at him - only to find him nodding thoughtfully, his expression _completely_ lacking in disgust or discomfort or disagreement of _any_ sort, "Yes, I can imagine how it might."

"You _can?_"

A smile, so soft, and a nod.

"You don't think it's strange?"

Aziraphale shrugged, "I do - but then again, I feel that way about most sexual acts."

"Fair." But something still nagged at Crowley, and it was probably ridiculous, but the thought of it made him squirm all the same as he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "You don't think it's...stereotypical of me?"

"How so?"

"Well...me. Being a serpent." Another squirm. Empty soreness, the thing Crowley wished he didn't feel every time he was finished with that gold-marbled toy. "And, you know. _Laying eggs_."

But Aziraphale just shrugged again, reached out, touched his cheek - still with that soft, loving smile.

"You like what you like. The only objection I have is with you hurting yourself when you do it."

That could have been it. It would have been the _perfect_ end to that conversation - then again, if that had been the case, they wouldn't have been Aziraphale and Crowley. So, _naturally_, what _actually_ happened was that Aziraphale then paused, frowned a little.

"...what?" asked Crowley.

Deep in thought, Aziraphale eyed him a moment longer...then opened his mouth, then closed it, then thought better of it and opened it again.

"You..._do_ lubricate, don't you?"

And Crowley laughed again - not near-hysterically, this time, but with relief, and no less amused than before.

"What kind of stupid question is _that?_"

"A _serious_ one," said Aziraphale, looking genuinely indignant. "Now, _do_ you?"

"_Yes! _Of _course!_"

"Right. Good. With what?" A little less indignant now, but still, Aziraphale spoke with a sudden air of authority - the type of tone that demanded answers and was _not_ going to wait for them.

Of _course_ Crowley found himself bristling, swatting Aziraphale's hand away as he sputtered out, "The-! Well, the _natural_ sort!"

"So you miracle it up, or-?"

"Don't have to, do I? It just...you know," Crowley gestured helplessly to his groin, "kind of does it itself!"

The look on Aziraphale's face brought to mind a train screeching to a halt, but not before the whole front half of its line of passenger cars was well past the platform. Obviously, Crowley had screwed up - _again_, somehow. Perhaps if he just...nipped off to about 25 minutes in the past and put that egg in a different hiding place - in the tool shed out back, or taped under his throne, or anywhere else his past self wouldn't think to look and would therefore give up searching for it and maybe even decide not to get off in the tub, after all...!

"It just-!" Aziraphale said at last, putting _entirely_ too much emphasis on each and every syllable that followed. "_It kind of just...does it? Itself?!_"

Oh yes. This routine had gone _quite_ stale.

Tired of the embarrassment, of explaining himself, of trying to make Aziraphale understand - which he _would_ eventually, he _always_ did - Crowley gave into the petty urge to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Whenever I get good and randy, _Aziraphale_," he hissed, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle the other's face. "And whenever _else_ the stupid thing fancies getting itself all nice and wet without my permission. Like during breakfast. Or on the drive to the Ritz." And then, on impulse, Crowley snatched up his egg, waved it about like someone who had flunked out of hypnotist school. "Or, you know. When I fantasize about having a couple of _these_ sitting inside me, filling me up, just waiting to make me _burn_ and _bleed_ on their way-!"

Now, talking dirty was never really Crowley's thing. Sure, he could _do_ it - and he could be _far_ more nasty when he wanted to be - but it only ever made him feel _very_ ridiculous. Aziraphale was of a similar mindset, except _he_ tended to execute it _perfectly_ at the drop of a hat _every blessed time_. Dirty talk also tended not to fluster him, not easily - at least, that's what Crowley thought before Aziraphale shoved his face in his hands, gritting out, "_Jesus Christ_, Crowley!"

"What?!" A defensive note, an unspoken fear that he'd just crossed the line, even as he added, "It happens! I don't _purposefully_ try to tear up my-!"

"And _that's_-!"

All of the sudden, they were face-to-face. Aziraphale's eyes were on fire, and Crowley's hand - the one grasping the egg - was held secure between his own. Crowley swallowed audibly. Aziraphale's expression softened, but it was still somehow pained.

"Dearest, _that's_ what worries me - even if it seems silly of me, or...like something trifling to you."

And Crowley just sagged against the wall of the tub - had it not been there, he'd have been resting against Aziraphale's shoulder. It wasn't _too_ uncomfortable, though, all things considered - not once Aziraphale brought an arm around him. With a heavy sigh, then, Crowley relinquished the egg in favor of crossing his arms.

"It's not silly, or trifling," he said softly. "I just...don't see why it's so worrisome."

Warm breath on the crown of Crowley's head. A hum from Aziraphale that sounded neither happy nor terribly upset. The roll of distant thunder - a storm that wouldn't quite reach them today. The worst ones _never_ did - not anymore.

The longer they sat there, the more Aziraphale rubbed little circles into the outermost bone of his shoulder, the more Crowley found himself just...letting everything go. All the embarrassment, all the frustration... He didn't even care that the egg - the same one that had been inside of him not 15 or 20 minutes ago - was resting right there in Aziraphale's hand. For some reason, it was okay. _They_ were okay.

At a length, Aziraphale shifted, let his head come down to rest next to Crowley's, turning the egg in his hand all the while. Then, he spoke.

"I'd like to propose something."

Glancing over, Crowley encouraged him, "And that would be...?"

A little hesitation, during which the egg went still in Aziraphale's hand.

"What if I were to show you a..._kinder_ way of using this? Not now, obviously. The next time you feel like it - whenever you like."

_That_ was a thought. Frowning, Crowley took a moment to consider...only to find within himself little to no objection. To be sure, wariness of the unknown was still a shadow in his mind. It tempered his interest in the idea of Aziraphale being there when he used the egg, and yet...when Crowley looked to him, saw the care and concern and _love_ in Aziraphale's offer, the strength and depth of his trust in him was what tugged at the corner of Crowley's lips, had him giving a little nod.

"...yeah," Crowley said. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"You're sure?"

Closing his eyes, Crowley hummed his consent.

"_Absolutely_ certain?"

"I'm certain."

"And you don't feel as if I'm...pressuring you into it?"

"Angel, _no_." As much as he didn't want to, Crowley forced himself to pull away, if only so that he could properly look Aziraphale in the eye as he plucked the egg out of his hand, reassuring him, "I _want_ to give it a try with you. Not _now_, but. Some other time. You and me."

Something intangible, something about the atmosphere seemed to settle - the calm before the storm, or perhaps the petrichoral peace that followed, all the world renewed. All Crowley knew was that raindrops on the garden couldn't hold a candle to the beauty of the look Aziraphale gave him - content, accepting, finally free of worry.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I expect you will," Crowley replied, clearing his throat. "Now, can I _please_ get out of the bath?"

Something in Aziraphale's eyes glinted as he smiled back, "As you wish."

With a roll of his eyes, Crowley took the hand Aziraphale proffered to him - and, with a snap, he was fully dressed before he even stepped out onto the tile. The sex toys were gone, too, demonically spirited away to their appropriate place in the top dresser drawer, which, despite its function, had never stored so much as a lonely sock. Meanwhile, as they left the master bath and descended the stairs, putting a comfortable distance between themselves and the conversation that had just transpired...walking, naturally, drew Crowley's attention back to that persistent soreness between his legs. It wasn't unbearable, didn't cause him _that_ much discomfort, and yet Aziraphale's words echoed in his head.

_A kinder way of using his egg..._

...nope, Crowley couldn't think about it now, not in detail. Distraction, a good distraction... Snatching up the plant mister left out on the island, Crowley made a beeline for the marble queen pothos hanging in the window near the breakfast nook.

"William Goldman's one of Downstairs's, you know," he commented off-hand, shoving two fingers into the dryish soil. The pothos didn't even flinch.

"That's alright," came Aziraphale's easy reply from somewhere in the kitchen. "Upstairs has André the Giant."

A derisive snort - he _knew_ forgetting it at the bookshop for a full week after buying it would poison his attempts at raising a nice, proper, Crowley-fearing pothos. Young and defiant, she was already sending out _another_ new runner in the _exact_ place, at the _exact_ angle Crowley didn't want her to. But she would learn. Crowley wouldn't cut this runner off. She'd get to keep it - if she could keep sitting pretty despite a little over-watering. Narrowing his eyes, Crowley aimed the mister down, pumped away at the plant's roots.

"They _would_," he mumbled. It was only once he heard an incensed scoff that Crowley finally glanced around to see where exactly Aziraphale was. Sure enough, he was peering out of the cupboard - probably looking for biscuits, judging by the kettle on the stove and the plate and two winged mugs on the counter - and looking _very_ unimpressed. Only then did Crowley actually register their most recent exchange.

Oops.

"_What?_" The fact that Crowley's voice cracked a little on that one almost-whined word likely helped his case more than it hurt it. "Didn't say it was _bad_, did I?"

Aziraphale shook his head, turned back to the cupboard.

"I mean it, angel!" Trying not to focus _too_ hard on his efforts at waterboarding the pothos, Crowley kept his eyes on Aziraphale's back - and if that meant his aim wasn't always perfect, and that the window itself got a light misting, well. That was just fine. "He's one of the few who actually deserves to be there! God's truth!"

This time, the scoff that came from the cupboard was more resigned than incensed, more fond than annoyed.

"You, my dear boy, are _impossible_."

At that, Crowley couldn't help but grin - even if the pothos _did_ give a suggestive little wiggle of one of her vines in response, the little shit.

"Nah," he said, unscrewing the cap and dumping the rest of the mister's contents into the most waterlogged part of the pot. "Not as much as you'd think."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Months of writing, editing, completely scrapping half of what I had because it wasn't working out, re-writing, re-editing, and getting distracted by other projects and anxiety and periods of I'm Too Damn Ace To Write Sexy Stuff Right Now later, here we go. Chapter 2. This is now officially the longest fanfic I've ever written, and it's only half-done. Also EXPONENTIALLY more aroace than originally planned, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
> 
> Thank y'all for your comments and Brit picking - I can't BEGIN to tell you how much I appreciate it. Readers in the UK, please feel free to keep pointing out any Americanisms that sneaked in the back door! Everyone, enjoy, and if you have a minute (and the spoons to do so), let me know what you think about this fic so far! :D
> 
> (And at the very least, I hope my writing helps distract you and maybe even makes you smile despite the scary, frustrating state of the world right now. I love you guys. Stay safe, and take care of yourselves!)

It was, unsurprisingly, the _curiosity_ that ended up getting to Crowley. He never could resist a good question, could he? Natural like instinct, whenever his mind willingly - and without repulsion - wandered back to Aziraphale's little proposal, Crowley was drawn to the _how_ and the _why_ of it all. He wanted answers, and after several days without epiphany...well, he'd survived his last few falls. What was one more, when Aziraphale was there to catch him?

That was why, late one damp afternoon, Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale's neck, apropos of nothing, "On second thought, a trust fall's an _awful_ comparison, isn't it?"

Not even two words into his sentence, he knew he'd caught Aziraphale by surprise. It was so easy to tell like this, curled up so close, Crowley's front pressed flush with Aziraphale's soft back, arms loosely looped around his middle. Along every point of contact, Crowley felt the tiny electric jolt of his angel startling.

"_Crowley_," Aziraphale gasped, "I thought you fell asleep!"

"Not tired yet," came Crowley's reply, muffled as he nuzzled a little more into the junction of Aziraphale's neck and shoulder. "Too busy thinking."

"About...?"

"Y'know," Crowley shrugged. Any other time, he would've done it just to be coy. "_Things_."

But Aziraphale was, as ever, patient. He shifted - _into_ Crowley rather than away, inclining his head against his.

"Such as...?"

Another shrug from Crowley, who then felt more than heard Aziraphale sigh, a plump hand coming down to rest over that of his partner's.

It wasn't that Crowley was _trying_ to avoid the subject - it was _getting there_ that was proving to be a bit of a challenge. There was no abstraction, no disconnect, no way to put any sort of comfortable distance between himself and the things he was thinking about. The bottom line was, Crowley was _pretty sure_ he wanted to try something sexual with Aziraphale - specifically whatever it was Aziraphale was suggesting several days prior - but before Crowley could commit, he _needed_ to know what it entailed.

Oh, how much _easier_ it would be if he could just come out and ask like a _normal_ person...

Instead, with an unintelligible grumble, Crowley dragged his head up to look over Aziraphale's shoulder.

Creaks and groans worked their way through the cottage as a gust of wind battered its side. The ambiance complemented the black-and-white cowboy movie on the telly - which, sleek and modern, didn't go _at all_ with the wooden entertainment center it sat within, was as mismatched as the pair pressed close together on the sofa. They were always such a treat, these quiet moments - like little reminders, gently reinforcing the reality they'd secured and curated together. It didn't matter that they'd lost the plot of the movie ages ago. It was okay that Aziraphale was preoccupied with the ancient pair of trousers so carefully unfolded in his lap. For the moment, even with his anxieties, Crowley felt safe letting himself just..._be_.

"Is everything alright?" Aziraphale asked gently - no pressure to answer a specific way, just a check-in. They were both quite good about those, starting _long_ before they settled into exploring physical affection with one another. Crowley had been the one to suggest it - more out of concern for Aziraphale's comfort than his own. Who knew the angel would become the one to initiate check-ins the most?

A nod - and then, pitch going up in idle curiosity, Crowley wondered back, "How long does it take to repair one _tiny_ torn button hole?"

With a little pat of Crowley's hand, Aziraphale took his needle back up to pass another careful stitch through the minute tear.

"Can't rush these things, my dear. One wrong move, and I could prick myself - and I don't know if you know, but angelic ichor stains something _dreadful_."

"Right. 'Course." It was the only way Crowley could think to respond - and the grimace on his face wasn't from picturing _Aziraphale_ bleeding.

Silence settled over the room.

_"You're like a snake crawling in your own shit,"_ the television said in Navajo, even though the character who was speaking was supposed to be Apache. It came so out of the blue, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley could resist a good chuckle. Back in the day, both Heaven and Hell had claimed responsibility for the casting of actual Native American actors in Native American roles. The actors' decision to speak their minds whenever the directors told them to 'speak Indian,' meanwhile, had been completely, naturally, and _delightfully_ human.

Another stitch, another baby step toward mended trousers.

Reluctantly, Crowley withdrew his arms and resituated, plucking his glasses up from the cushion beside him and slipping them on before turning, leaning into Aziraphale's side once he'd safely completed yet another stitch.

"Demon blood, too," said Crowley.

"Sorry?"

"Stains." Instead of squirming - because Aziraphale was passing that needle back into the cloth - Crowley swallowed and, again, hated himself for being like this. "That's why I was in the bath, you know. And...well, _part_ of why I prefer black sheets."

Aziraphale's hand stilled, but only for a second or two.

"Well, that's...practical." A beat. "You don't...? Miracle them clean?"

A shrug accompanied by a noncommittal grunt. Crowley _did_, of course, but _still_...

Another gust of wind. On the other side of the room, the grandfather clock ticked away, even though the majority of its gears were rusted through. Then, at last, Crowley bit the bullet, commenting none too smoothly, "But I assume, if we did it _your_ way, they'd be an unnecessary precaution, the sheets."

Of _course_ Aziraphale responded as evenly as if they were discussing the weather.

"If we did _what_ my way?"

"Oh, you know. _That_."

"I'm sorry, my dear, but you're going to have to be more specific. I'm not a mind reader."

"But you _could_ be."

But Crowley knew they were done beating about the bush the moment Aziraphale gave him that _look_ over the rims of his spectacles.

"I don't _need_ to be to know we'd be far more comfortable if you told me of your own volition."

Another swallow. His nerves curling, twisting in his gut. The soft hiss of a light rain starting to fall - something they were only able to hear because of a lull in the action on the TV.

"Right, then." The glasses came off again, were abandoned on the coffee table - the way they were headed, might as well just keep them off. Crowley straightened, now fully turned to face Aziraphale, and forced himself to look him in the eye. "Aziraphale...I want to know what you meant by a...a 'gentler' way of...me. Using my egg."

White-blond eyebrows raised, but only in mild surprise.

"You'd like to talk about it?"

"I would, yes," said Crowley, ignoring another anxious twist of his insides - which loosened a bit as, with a smile, Aziraphale set about properly folding up his trousers, not once losing track of either the thread or the loose needle still hanging from the almost-repaired button hole. The ease, the _casual_ nature of it all was enough to ground Crowley as he went on to add, "What is it..._specifically_...that you propose?"

The last thing Aziraphale left on the coffee table was his spectacles. This way, there were no more barriers between them as he sat back, turned similarly to face Crowley. And _here they were_. As much as the proximity of the subject made him squirm, Crowley was...relieved, actually, to finally have it out in the open like this - and to have Aziraphale to help him illuminate the unknown.

"I'm a bit loath to spoil the surprise," Aziraphale admitted with a wink that went straight to Crowley's heart - even before Aziraphale lifted a hand, then paused to ask, "May I...?"

A small but enthusiastic nod.

Warm fingers at Crowley's cheek, prompting him to release a breath.

Wind against the cottage, creaks and groans, drizzling rain.

"Specifically," Aziraphale continued - so calm, so steady, like a long-loved verse of poetry, "I'd like to lavish on you all the sensations I know you most enjoy. I want to make you feel nothing but _good_ as I slip your egg into you. And I'll tease you, make you wait, perhaps...but in the end, I think you'll find the climax I drive you to as you lay your egg for me will be _well_ worth it."

Crowley didn't know when he'd closed his eyes. For a moment, all he knew was the hand so sweetly caressing his cheek and the words in his ears, driving his imagination to ghosts of sensuality - until his stomach flipped. Still too close. But when his eyes opened, Aziraphale was right there waiting for him, the smile that reached his eyes full of adoration and _promise_.

"And there will be _no blood_, Crowley," he leaned in to whisper, "because I'm going to take good care of you. What do you say to that?"

The nerves were still there, but Crowley's curiosity, and his trust in Aziraphale, were _far_ stronger. At last, he didn't feel silly for his hesitation. He smiled back at Aziraphale, leaned into his touch - and found himself looking forward to more.

"I say I'd like that," Crowley whispered back - then gave a chuckle that wasn't entirely nervous. "In fact, I'd..._very much_ like to do that with you now."

"Right now?"

"Please..."

Lips brushed against his own and, with a sigh, Crowley all too happily leaned in to meet them - just lips, just a warm and steady pressure, solid and sweet. The sudden yelling in English from the TV was promptly cut off with a wave of Aziraphale's hand. All that remained, then, was the silvery sound of rainfall. At a length, the kiss broke, but still they sat, foreheads resting together as they breathed each other's aura. Aziraphale's hand moved from Crowley's face to his shoulder, his other hand finding the other one, and slowly, his hands trailed down Crowley's arms.

Such sweet, simple _perfection_.

"Talk to me, Crowley," Aziraphale breathed - and as he gently took his demon's hands into his own, Crowley felt something in him _melt_. "Tell me what you want."

Unblinkingly, Crowley met his gaze, marveled at the mighty and tender being before him, at all the love and care overflowing from within, all of which he _surely_ didn't deserve.

"I want you to take care of me, Aziraphale," Crowley whispered like a prayer. "I want you to touch me and teach me to be patient."

Just like before, it was easier to talk about it now, to just let the words come. It was always so easy with him, _how was it so easy?_

Thunder. It was closer than it was the other day - further up the coast, perhaps.

Crowley licked his lips, his hands squeezing around Aziraphale's so minutely as his nerves gave a little flutter in his stomach. It made his next point all the more important: "But I need your help getting there, and being there."

Of _course_ Aziraphale squeezed back.

"Then help you I will, love." And with a little peck just off the lips, Aziraphale moved to stand, Crowley moving right along with him. "Just tell me what you need."

"Plenty of foreplay, for one thing."

"Well," Aziraphale chuckled lightly but not dismissively, "that goes without saying."

"Yeah, well," Crowley chuckled back, "said it anyway."

Hand-in-hand, Aziraphale led Crowley away, around the sofa and toward the stairs. There was no rush, not even the _suggestion_ of any sort of urgency - a change in location, that was all. Even their continued discussion was casual, almost leisurely.

"Now, what else do you need?" Aziraphale asked, knowing but not pressuring. "I want to make sure I take care of you as best as I possibly can."

It wasn't anything they hadn't discussed before, but still, Crowley pulled a face. "I don't think I'll ever _not_ feel guilty for saying this, but...I need to not be myself..._during_...so, er..._please_ don't call me by name. Not until we're done."

But when Aziraphale looked back at him as they made their way upstairs, everything about him was full of understanding.

"Right. Until then, only pet names. Is that alright?"

"Very."

"Okay." Another smile, an encouraging little squeeze of his hand as they reached the landing. "Anything else?"

Crowley nodded, "Sometimes, I need to...you know. Not look. Because I _can't_."

"Of course. That gets to be too much for you, doesn't it?"

"Exactly. But that doesn't mean I don't like what you're doing, or that I...don't want you to do it." A beat. They were almost to the bedroom. So, tugging at Aziraphale's hand in silent request for a pause - which Aziraphale was all too happy to accommodate - Crowley added as they stood there face-to-face before the bedroom door, "But if I _am_ uncomfortable with something, I'll tell you immediately."

"And immediately, I'll stop and check in with you," Aziraphale nodded, eyes locked on Crowley's again - unknowingly, or perhaps knowingly, settling the worst of that nervous fluttering in Crowley's stomach, while the rest of it continued to turn ever so tentatively to anticipation. Perhaps the change showed on his face or how he held himself, because, with a smile and a squeeze of Crowley's hand, Aziraphale leaned in, his lips just barely brushing Crowley's ear as he whispered, "Are you ready for me, darling?"

Oooh, but that sent the _nicest_ little shiver down Crowley's spine. Grinning, intent on sharing the sensation, he stepped in, a hand on Aziraphale's chest, bringing his lips close to his ear and whispering back, "I'm getting there...but would you mind carrying me the rest of the way?"

Aziraphale's smile grew.

"As you wish."

And the next thing he knew, Crowley was literally swept off his feet and carried into the bedroom. Yelping, he scrambled to get his arms around Aziraphale's neck, only to be deposited on the bed all too soon. Aziraphale, of course, was chuckling to himself as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. He went to hang it up, and although Crowley _tried_ to glare at his retreating back, he was too amused to put any real heat into it.

"Alright, then," he ended up smirking, sitting up. "But if you so much as _think_ about calling me 'Buttercup,' you're sleeping on the couch."

"Oh, _please_," came Aziraphale's reply from the closet - and Crowley could practically _hear_ his eyes roll. "We both know you're more of an Inigo."

"So who does that make you? Fezzik?"

With a thoughtful hum, Aziraphale returned to the bed, sitting beside Crowley and setting about carefully removing his shoes. Crowley's feet, meanwhile, were bare and appropriately human-colored, textured, and shaped with but a thought. When Aziraphale failed to give any further response, then, Crowley crawled closer, perching his head on Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Don't tell me you're _actually_ considering it," he teased.

"I don't know," Aziraphale lilted back, pulling away to set down one shoe - and staying bent over to untie the other. "They _are_ good friends."

"Hm. And you _are_ quite strong." As he said this, Crowley crossed his arms and leaned his whole upper half down on top of Aziraphale, smirking at the little 'oof' the action got out of him - even if Aziraphale _did_ only do it for effect, and they both knew it. "More so than a giant, I'd say. Guardian of the Eastern Gate and all."

"Quite," Aziraphale grunted, freeing his other foot, placing his other shoe next to its twin. "How else was I supposed to protect the Garden..."

What Crowley hadn't taken into account here was the possibility of Aziraphale _personally_ proving his point. As such, he wasn't expecting Aziraphale to suddenly swivel around, or grab his legs, or pull him forward. He _certainly_ didn't think he'd then find himself pinned down and _properly_ immobilized.

"...from _naughty little serpents?_"

Something _sparked_ inside of Crowley as he gazed up at a particularly smug Aziraphale feeling breathless without needing to breathe. Funny, he'd never been a big fan of this sort of vulnerability, of being so swiftly and effortlessly overpowered. With _his_ history, perhaps it should have scared him, made him instinctively fight back - but this was _Aziraphale_. How could Crowley _ever_ be afraid of _him?_ Instead, to his surprise, arousal swooped low in his belly, making him squirm a little, but not out of discomfort. Pretending to put up just the _slightest_ struggle, Crowley flashed Aziraphale a cocky grin.

"Careful. I bite."

"Oh, _Crowley_." A disbelieving quirk of an eyebrow. Tone fond, knowing, and amused. "No, you don't."

"Well. Not _you_," Crowley acquiesced with a wink, "...unless, of course, you _want_ me to."

"Hm..." Aziraphale's brow furrowed in thought. Then, with a smile, he shook his head as he leaned down, murmuring, "Maybe later."

The press of warm lips, soft like a question. Pinned down at either side of Crowley's head, black-nailed hands answered, interlacing fingers with that of their captor's. A millisecond break, and then, Aziraphale caught Crowley's parting lips, kissing him more soundly. Such _warmth_, even as the rain began to fall a little harder outside. With a thought - neither knew whose - the light above them went out at the same time the lamp on the bedside table went on, bathing the two in its cozy yellow glow.

Cozy.

Safe, secure.

Deeply, endlessly, fearlessly _loved_.

It wasn't the first time Crowley had thought this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last: What he and Aziraphale had now, what they had _made together_ on this crazy, wonderful blue-and-green speck adrift in the seas of all the cosmos was _more_ than worth the 6,000-year-long wait.

"That reminds me," Aziraphale said the next time he pulled away, releasing Crowley's hands so they could resituate, moving more fully onto the bed. "While we're doing this, would you mind if I called you 'my serpent?'"

His shoulder blades bumping the headboard, Crowley paused, stared for a moment while his cognitive processing abilities sprinted to catch up. That's right, they weren't just fooling around here. There was something Aziraphale wanted to show him. Yes, today, they were going to try something different - something Crowley only ever thought he could indulge in on his own.

'My serpent,' Aziraphale had said.

_My serpent..._

Then, Aziraphale was coming up beside him, looking more unsure of himself, more apologetic by the second.

"Or...? I'm sorry, that's stereotyping, isn't-?"

"N-No, it's...!" Equal parts cautious and _thrilled_ by the new territory - and by Aziraphale's interest in exploring it with him - Crowley shook his head, couldn't stop smiling as he let himself slide down until his head hit the pillows. "That's _perfect_. Actually."

"Oh, _good_."

Regaining his confidence, Aziraphale beamed down at Crowley, leaned back over him - didn't pin his hands again, to Crowley's disappointment.

"And, er, you _know_, angel..."

"Mm?"

Thumb brushing cheek, then that hand moved to cradle the back of Crowley's head. He, in turn, looped his arms around Aziraphale's neck to pull him closer, feeling a little more confident himself.

"I wouldn't be opposed to you holding me down at times. Or moving me however you'd like me."

"You're sure?"

Once Crowley gave an eager nod, Aziraphale just as eagerly indulged him. Another kiss, this one open-mouthed, making Crowley _shiver_ when he felt Aziraphale's tongue at his lower lip. The hand at the back of Crowley's head slid down the back of his neck, then over shoulder and collarbone.

"In that case," Aziraphale murmured against Crowley's lips, planting one last peck just off their corner, and then ducking to press butterfly kisses up under Crowley's jaw, his hand dragging over his chest - and Crowley was _all too happy_ to have decided to forgo his usual waistcoat and blazer this morning on account of their intentions to spend the day at home, "would you say...perhaps...a _safeword_...should be in order?"

"Seriously?" Crowley chuckled, and then his breath hitched as Aziraphale thumbed a nipple through his shirt. "It isn't as if I'm asking you to tie me up. Or _spank_ me."

"Even so," - another kiss further back on his jaw, Crowley turning his head, baring his neck in response - "the point of this exercise is for you to _learn_, and for me to completely, utterly _spoil_ you," - that hand dragged down as hot breath tickled his ear, Aziraphale's lips hovering _maddeningly_ over the sensitive spot under Crowley's earlobe, "not for us to see how far we can push your limits."

"Right...! Right there, angel, _please-!_"

Neither of them could have cared less about how Crowley's words came out in a breathless, pleading whine - they were _long_ past the point of giving a damn about such things. Aziraphale simply latched on. Hot tongue, scraping teeth, a _deliciously_ bruising, marking kiss _right_ where Crowley liked it. Almost immediately, he squirmed under him, giving an appreciative moan, though he couldn't help but chuckle again, his hold on Aziraphale tightening.

"But...I'm telling you," Crowley managed to get out between breaths when he focused _really_ hard on putting together coherent sentences, "I don't mind...if you _do_...push them a bit."

A thoughtful hum as Aziraphale pulled away, looking down at Crowley with eyes that were both tender and conflicted. The latter softened, faded around the edges when, with a love-dazed smile, Crowley touched his cheek.

"I trust you, Aziraphale."

Now, that hand abandoned its efforts to untuck Crowley's shirt, coming instead to rest against the one at Aziraphale's face.

"And I you, Crowley." A slight turn of the head, lips pressed into Crowley's wrist with such loving care. "So, why not make it _easier_ for us to tell each other if it gets to be too much?"

Crowley blinked.

"Oh. When you put it _that_ way...yeah."

"Yeah?"

A little nod, Crowley's thumb stroking idly at a soft cheek - it had to have something to do with him being an angel, how very soft literally _everything_ about him was. Aziraphale smiled, leaned into Crowley's hand, making him feel that he was holding the most precious thing in existence.

"So? What will it be, then?" Aziraphale asked.

"You're letting _me_ choose our safeword?"

"Well, since _you're_ the one being ravished."

A little squirm and a grin when Aziraphale took his hand and began to kiss each finger in turn, and Crowley let his head fall back, eyes closing.

"Alright. Safeword, safeword... And it can be _anything?_"

"Anything you like, dearest."

"Even if it's a mood killer?"

"Well, if one needs to use it, I think it would be all the better if it _is_."

"Mm. That's a good point."

"Also, something we don't normally say. That way, we don't accidentally-!"

"I _know_ how safewords work, angel," Crowley chuckled, then added, looking up at him, "I'm not _completely_ ignorant."

"Hm, curious," Aziraphale teased, tilting his head, raising an eyebrow as he kissed Crowley's palm. "You know all about safewords, but _nothing_ about the importance of proper lubrication."

Bastard.

_Someone_, he was perfect.

"Perhaps you should teach me," said Crowley.

"Perhaps I should," said Aziraphale, "but first, our safeword."

"Right. That." The temptation to pick something embarrassing or utterly ridiculous was strong. Fortunately for both of them, practicality won out. "What about 'kippers?'"

Aziraphale smiled, beautiful like a ray of sunlight piercing a storm.

"'Kippers' is perfect, love. Now, hands above your head, if you would? Yes, just like that..."

Only once his hand closed around Crowley's crossed wrists did Aziraphale turn his attention back to the demon's neck. And it was in need of _so_ much more attention, judging by the little noise Crowley made when he felt hot breath ghosting back over the faint mark that was just made...but then, once again, Aziraphale pulled away. Crowley might have been a little annoyed by this point if it wasn't for the lingering uncertainty he saw in the angel's eyes.

"There _is_, er...one last thing," said Aziraphale. "Before we begin. Just to make sure I'm... That we're on the same page."

A little nod from Crowley.

"Go on..."

The cottage creaked around them. For some reason, Aziraphale seemed hesitant, brows knitting, eyes wandering down Crowley's body, coming to rest somewhere in the vicinity of his lower torso. A pink tongue darted out to wet kiss-plush lips - and when he spoke, Aziraphale had difficulty meeting Crowley's gaze.

"Is..._pregnancy kink_ a part of it?"

Crowley blanched.

"_Absolutely_ not."

"Right! Alright, then," Aziraphale scrambled to reply. "Just, er...the eggs."

"Right."

"_Nothing_ to do with...having children."

"_Nothing_."

Their eyes met......and Crowley was the first to crack - a snort-snicker that had the fleeting panic on Aziraphale's face crumbling like a dried-out sandcastle. The next thing he knew, they were laughing _so hard_, Aziraphale's face pressed into Crowley's neck while Crowley held him close, his hands having been released so that Aziraphale could keep from falling on top of him - which, Crowley thought as the last bubbly tremors worked their way out of their chests, he wouldn't have minded one bit.

This was ridiculous - _they_ were ridiculous. Fitting, then, how it was in imperfection that they'd found their own personal paradise.

Irregular breaths that attempted to be less so. The occasional infectious residual giggle. It had to be several minutes before, at last, Aziraphale pushed himself upright, wiping away a mirthful tear.

"_Well_, now," he said on the way, "I'm glad I asked!"

"I'm glad you did, too," said Crowley, and as he let his arms fall from Aziraphale's shoulders, he found himself unable to stop smiling.

For once, those fine clothes were rumpled - and Aziraphale made _no move_ to acknowledge or fix it. Either he was ignoring it or it didn't even register to him, the way his shirt was oddly wrinkled or how crooked his bow tie was. He seemed a proper angel regardless, the gold light of the bedside lamp behind him even making his hair seem luminescent. It was, by happy coincidence, more gorgeous than _any_ halo Crowley had _ever_ seen. Out of everything, though, in that moment, it was the eyes that had him captivated - the eyes, and the way they gazed at him. Aziraphale's corporation, of course, had two - but on another plane, there were _multitudes_, and somehow, Crowley felt _every last one of them_ upon him as surely as he saw the naked adoration in the pair before him.

"So," Aziraphale sighed - easy, content, like the two of them were the only beings in the whole world to exist and he was happy not to have it any other way, "just to make sure I understand correctly... Ah, may I...?"

That hand was back at Crowley's shirt. He hadn't the foggiest as to when it had returned, plump fingers curled in the fabric, giving it a tentative tug just above his waistband - and he didn't care. He saw it, and he knew, and he trusted all in an instant, because _how could he not?_ A nod, Crowley's eyes never leaving Aziraphale's. Then, and _only_ then, did Aziraphale work the garment free from where it was tucked into Crowley's jeans. A similar plucking at his vest, and he nodded again, reacting with only the mild shock-pleasure of air on bare skin when _that_ garment miraculously disappeared - and a soft, warm hand pushed up under his shirt, smoothing over his lower belly. Aziraphale's touch was tender and sure - so much so that Crowley felt himself brought down to earth, reality finally, _truly_ settling in.

And though the demon's smile faded, his heart felt full - right up to the brim, based on the sudden awareness that his throat didn't _used_ to feel tight like this...

"It's just...you," Aziraphale continued, quiet like a precious secret. His eyes - as soft as his touch - had trailed down to Crowley's stomach, _to his core_, and to the hand that so gently memorized its surface. "Being gravid. And laying your clutch."

"And..."

The word was thick on his tongue. Aziraphale looked up - caring, curious - and Crowley swallowed hard, _forced_ himself to continue, and to resist the urge to look away, even as his eyes began to sting.

"There's something else," he murmured.

Ever patient, Aziraphale watched and listened.

Rain pattered against the window pane. The thunder rolled - again, just a bit closer, but not on top of them. And there in their bedroom, laid out on his back with Aziraphale beside him, before him, _with_ him, hand skating so tenderly over his belly as he looked at Crowley in a way that made him feel like every secret, every insecurity, every last ugly piece of him was on full display _and Aziraphale knew and loved them all_...... There, in that moment, Crowley felt safe. And in that moment, the dam broke. His vision blurred, his mouth twisted, one of his hands instinctively gripped the duvet under him because the sheer strength and magnitude of the things he felt were a flash flood and they were tugging at him, pulling him under, sweeping him away.

"It... It's _you_, too," Crowley warbled out, words trembling and stumbling over each other like baby birds. "_You_ be...being here, and-! Ngh, h-helping me..."

"Oh, _Crowley_..."

Overflowing - that's what it felt like. His heart was the very fountain that was drowning him - until a pair of arms wrapped around him, and he remembered he _couldn't_ drown. Not _really_. Not when Aziraphale all but pulled Crowley into his lap and just _held_ him, cradling him and his heart as tears splashed down the demon's cheeks.

"Come here, shhhh..."

Curious, the way these acts of comfort further worked Crowley up, had him truly _sobbing_. So much, it was all _so much_, he couldn't help but fall apart right there in Aziraphale's arms - and in some semi-coherent fragment of the back of his mind, the demon registered an inexplicable sensation of _stretching_ \- almost but not quite corporeal, as if he was straining at his metaphysical seams. It would have _really_ frightened him if he hadn't felt it before, and if Aziraphale wasn't holding him, sheltering him, breathing loving, comforting nonsense in his ear as, together, they weathered the emotional deluge.

It took a while for the brute force and _immensity_ of it all to run its course - the majority of it, anyway. Tears still wanted to come. The only thing keeping Crowley's hiccups from turning to sobs was the conscious effort to breathe - which was _more_ than fine, actually, because Aziraphale offered gentle encouragement throughout, praised every attempt to gulp down air.

"_There's_ a dear. Can you do that again for me?"

He could.

He _did_.

And he did it _again_, and _again_.

Pouring rain, the wind now _driving_ it against the windowpane - sounds that seemed so far away because, eyes squeezed shut, face turned into Aziraphale's shoulder, Crowley could only focus on the sound of breathing. His own was still _terribly_ shaky...but with the angel's body at one ear and his mouth at the other, the demon was all but surrounded by a stronger, steadier rhythm - one he found easier and easier to match.

The storm outside blew on. Crowley's blew itself out, the rain clouds in his mind and the towering thunderheads in his heart passing by, dissipating a little more with every breath he and Aziraphale drew in unison. It wasn't the kind of intimacy he'd expected, considering where they'd been heading, but Crowley soaked it up, held onto this precious moment in his heart all the same.

Another shared breath, Crowley's coming out as a slow, deep, open-mouthed sigh.

"I love you so much," he murmured, at ease, against the damp patch he'd wept into Aziraphale's shirt. "You know that?"

An embrace momentarily tightened. The cheek resting in Crowley's hair squeezing up, going rounder as its owner smiled.

"I do," Aziraphale murmured back.

"I love you more than words can say."

"I know. And _you_ know the feeling is mutual."

"I do..."

Aziraphale's head withdrew only to come back a moment later, lips pressing into Crowley's hair - and oh, but Crowley could stay curled up there all day, safe in Aziraphale's arms...

When the angel next drew back, Crowley could feel his eyes on him, soft and expectant.

"Alright now?" Aziraphale asked.

With a nod, Crowley pulled away, but only enough so that his face wasn't buried in Aziraphale's shirt anymore.

"Got a little overwhelmed, that's all," he sniffed, wiping his face with his sleeve...and then, he rolled his eyes theatrically at the gentle concern with which Aziraphale watched him. "You're looking at me like I've never cried during sex before."

Concern melted into fond, amused disbelief.

"Except I haven't even _touched_ you yet, dearest."

"Er, I mean, hey," Crowley shrugged. "What's a little pre-coital catharsis between friends?"

A chuckle, a shake of his head, and Aziraphale caressed Crowley's cheek, his thumb brushing through a damp spot the demon had missed.

"Feeling better, then, I take it?"

A nod as Crowley let his eyes close, turned his face into Aziraphale's hand, though it wasn't anywhere _near_ enough to hide the silly grin that spread unbidden across his face - much to Aziraphale's amusement.

"And what's _that_ look for?"

Crowley didn't answer at first, his grin growing wider.

"_Crowley_..."

Then, at the playful faux-warning note in Aziraphale's tone, he looked up at him. It really was quite incredible, how the angel had this effect on Crowley, drove him from one emotional extreme to another, made him _giddy_ just because of how _much_ Aziraphale made him feel.

"_Angelllll_..."

And sure enough, Aziraphale was grinning back.

"Yes, darling?"

"I'm going to say something _stupendously_ sappy."

"So...? What's stopping you?"

"Absolutely nothing." Another sniff, a little shifting so that his rear was properly settled in the opening inside of Aziraphale's crisscrossed legs, rather than atop one of his thighs. After all, it couldn't have been very comfortable for him - unless that extra cushioning of Aziraphale's compensated for how bony Crowley's ass was. Crowley couldn't be certain because Aziraphale never complained. Even so, he made himself - and hopefully, by extension, Aziraphale - more comfortable as he pondered his words, and finally admitted with a shrug and a gaze that was nothing short of adoring, "It's almost as if...I don't know, like this corporation wasn't made to hold all the things I feel for you."

Maybe it was the lamplight behind him again, but Crowley could have _sworn_ Aziraphale began to _glow_.

"That _is_ stupendously sappy," he agreed, his hand leaving Crowley's face to catch one of his.

All the while, Crowley couldn't stop grinning.

"Told you."

A chuckle, a breathed "Oh, my sweet serpent," a tender kiss pressed against his knuckles... That, and the way Aziraphale gazed into his eyes as he did so, flooded Crowley's chest with warmth. "If we keep going like this, I may very well forget what we came here for in the first place."

It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world and they both knew it. Still, Crowley couldn't help but tease, "Can't have _that_, now, can we?"

"Would you like to continue, then?"

Oh, but he _did_, even after crying his eyes out - even as they prickled again, fresh tears gathering, sticking to his lashes when he blinked. Aziraphale smiled back at him with a slight tilt to his head - at once both a question and an invitation. And yes, Crowley _wanted_ this, wanted to soak up as much of Aziraphale's freely, selflessly-given love as he could no matter _what_ form it took. That was it, really - their ineffable love, their ability to be so open with one another, _their eons-long connection itself_ was what made Crowley eager for whatever came next. At this point, he didn't care whether or not his egg made it into the equation of this romp. All that mattered, all he wanted was his angel, and to savor these moments, these new experiences, _together_.

"Yes," Crowley answered, not caring that his voice had gotten thick again. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, let one of his knees fall to the side - not quite spreading his legs yet, just...doing a little tempting of his own, because Aziraphale couldn't have _all_ the fun. He even managed to sound almost _sultry_ when he continued, "Yes, angel, you may resume preparing to ravish me."

And while Aziraphale resituated Crowley, moved out from under him and laid him back against an abundance of pillows that were _most certainly_ not there a minute ago, there was a flickering flame, a flash of the promise of mischief in his eye. Fond, and a touch bastardly, angelic mischief - Crowley's favorite kind.

"Go on, slippery snake," said Aziraphale. "Tease while you still can."

"You're going to stop me?"

Blue eyes gazing down, mischievous and adoring as the angel came to hover over him once more. The smile on Aziraphale's face, like the words he next spoke, was _much_ too innocent to be such: "By reducing you to incoherent, overstimulated jelly, yes."

Oh.

Oh _yes_, actually.

A kiss, slow and wet and indulgent. Crowley's shirt riding up a little more, and then, another soft caress of his belly. Some bit of the demon's slightly-fizzling brain distantly wondered if, once they got going, Aziraphale would be able to feel the egg inside of him like this. Or...no, they'd need a few more for that, wouldn't they? _Quite_ a few more... Aaaaand sure enough, the thought went straight to his groin. A whine, a little squirm as Crowley pressed his thighs together - and was surprised to find himself slick.

"Alright, love?" Aziraphale murmured against his lips, pulled away just enough to meet his eyes.

Arousal, nerves, _excitement_ simmered within Crowley, in the pit of his stomach and deep between his hips, and he _very much_ wanted to hide his face because of it, but he held Aziraphale's gaze all the same.

"Fine, yeah," he nodded, a little breathless from it all - and then, thinking _to **somewhere** with it_, admitted, sheepish and yet a _tiny_ bit proud of himself, "It's, er. Good. Yeah. For me."

Every last hint of mischief about Aziraphale turned to pure, unfiltered, unabashed _love_, and _just this once,_ Crowley let himself feel that much prouder.

"I'm _so_ glad to hear it," the angel breathed. The hand at Crowley's belly slid up, up, fingers splaying out as they reached his sternum, felt the undoubtedly _thundering_ beat there. Throat tight again - incredible, how one being could make him feel _so much, over and over and over through the centuries_ \- Crowley swallowed, sniffed. With the utmost tenderness, then, Aziraphale planted another kiss just off his lips and rested his forehead against the demon's.

"_Shhhh_, I have you, dearheart. It's okay. I'm going to take care of you..."

Down in the kitchen, a certain pothos replayed the angel and the demon's retreat upstairs in her supernaturally-influenced equivalent of a mind. Happy and more than a little smug, she pushed out some more new growth, delighted in the rain outside even as fungal growth - a result of overwatering - began to harass her roots. After all, everything would work out - with _those_ two people, it _always_ did, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT - 10/29/2020
> 
> So, ah. Just so y'all know, ch3 is still in the works, but it IS coming! I've decided that, in the interest of making sure working on fic isn't too big a point of anxiety for me, it's best not to put a timeframe on it. I hope that's okay?
> 
> This year, I've been re-teaching myself to write for the joy of the creative process - writing because _I want to_. That means working around what ingrained irrational anxieties I can, and figuring out how to best manage with the neurodivergent fuckery I can't. That said, my therapist suggested I set the following boundary in regards to commenting: **Please refrain from asking for more or even mentioning planned future works like new chapters.** We've actually found that this, more than anything, tends to _really_ get in my head and mess with my writing process, so. Yeah. Please don't do that? But I'd still love to hear what you think of this fic so far! :,D


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